


Emmet Shorts

by WendyAnon



Category: Emmy The Robot (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:21:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29518002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyAnon/pseuds/WendyAnon
Relationships: Emmet/Farris
Kudos: 1





	1. Christmas

Christmas Eve  
-

>The house grew quiet as the family Christmas party came to an end and the guests slowly trickled back to their cars, leaving the stairs creaking under Emmet and Mr. Farris' feet the only sound in the house. The house is old, older than either of them for sure, and portraits and travel photos bespeckle the wallpaper on their ascent up to his room. Mr. Farris' old portrait— fresh-faced, in his parade uniform, posed in front of his battalion flag— always catches Emmet's optics as he passes.  
>"Just a feeeew more- you got it?" Emmet coos, leading his owner up the stairs.  
>"Few more, few more, I got it." He repeats flippantly, waving Emmet's hand off his arm and pushing open his room door, always stubborn to admit when he needs help.  
>A cramped little Christmas tree flushes the soft pale glow of it's lights into the room. It's cluttered as ever— nick-knacks and artifacts on every available surface: just the sight of it betrays all the training and programming Emmet received years earlier, but it's just as his owner likes. Emmet quickly follows, making a beeline to the master bathroom, but not before Farris reaching for his chessboard catches his attention.  
>"No no no, not tonight, it's straight to bed tonight for you, sir. Sir!" he shouts, exasperated, into the bedroom.  
>"It's my birthday, Emmet, we are not breaking tradition on my birthday." Farris snorts.  
>Emmet returns to the bedroom, medicine bag in hand, to see Farris setting up chess a game on an ottoman, sitting on the floor. "You've been drinking tonight sir, I-"  
>"I had two brandies, it was my party; sit." He commands with a smile as he detaches his prosthetic leg, rubbing the stump sore from a full day standing up.  
>Despite his protestations, Emmet drops down across from Farris on the floor, helping him set up the pieces with exact detail. "Chess, then meds, then bed?" he offers coyly.  
>Farris chuckles. "If you're gonna stick me full of needles you better win the privilege."  
>"You're on, old man." Emmet responds in mock-anger, mordant smile shining through.  
>The two play, making faces at one another whenever their eyes meet, teasing each other like schoolchildren, slamming their pieces on the board with a distinctive clack. Farris is good, but Emmet is a living supercomputer: it's not hard to tell who's winning the game.  
>"I'm getting old." Farris pipes up.  
>"Thirty-four isn't very old, sir."  
>"I feel old."  
>"Could it be because you're losing so badly?" Emmet asks through grinning teeth, taking Farris' queen with a knight, a move he'd been planning for half the game.  
>Farris snickers. "You're designed for this, you're no fair. Beating an old cripple like this..." he rattles the prosthetic leg on the rug to his side. "Beat me again and I'll take you to the scrapyard." He moves his bishop to take Emmet's knight.  
>Emmet sticks his tongue out at him playfully. "You couldn't even drive to the scrapyard without my help-"  
>"Ouch. That one hurt, y'know. Gonna make an old cripple cry on his birthday. You're heartless."  
>"That's not heartless!" Emmet mock-pleads, "What is heartless is this checkmate you've found yourself in." He sits up, giggling, resting his elbows up on the ottoman, making his final move to surround Farris' king.  
>Farris scoffs, then laughs, in disbelief. "You bastard..."  
>"Med time?"  
>He sighs. "Med time."  
>Emmet picks the medicine bag back up and scrambles on the ottoman, sitting with Farris, still on the floor, between his legs. He procures a vial and needle from the bag as Farris' hands idly play with the fabric of Emmet's uniform pants and the cold metal of his calves.  
>"It's a cruel fate to have your birthday on Christmas Eve. I didn't even get presents, y'know." he titters, trying to distract himself from the incoming shot.  
>"You get presents tomorrow sir, don't be such a sourpuss."  
>He feigns sadness with a pout. "We should do Christmas on my birthday, not my birthday on Christmas. Jesus can manage."  
>"I'll let Santa know for next year." Emmet mutters, focused as he taps the remaining air out of his syringe.  
>"...You'd think I'd be more okay with needles by now, huh-" Farris remarks, rolling up his sleeve and watching Emmet prepare the needle and vial.  
>He gives his best consolidating smile and takes Farris' arm gently, cleaning the bend of his elbow. His arms are vascular and rough from a life of labor, and his hand lightly shakes in anticipation. "I think it's cute, like when elephants get scared by mice." He holds Farris' hand. "Tell me about the time you almost fell off a roof."  
>Farris smiles, sighs, then looks up at the ceiling. "Back when I had my delivery boy job at sixteen, I'd bring my camera with me, y'know? Wanted to take pictures of the city, and I had a delivery in The Venetian, that building on 6th you said looked like a spaceship. So I-" The prick of the needle does little to interrupt the distracted Farris. "-I wanted to get a picture on the roof looking down the boulevard, but the safety railing, it was..." He looks down at his arm to see Emmet sticking a colorful bandaid in the crook of his arm.  
>"All done!" Emmet announces, squeezing Farris' hand and leaning in to kiss him on the cheek, immaculate white chassis brustling across Farris' rugged unshaven face. "Hundred milligrams Toradol. Well done, soldier."  
>He laughs, slinging his arm over Emmet's shoulder and pulling him into your lap to return the kiss, making Emmet's cheek panels activate their lovely radiant pink. "Yeah? Where's my medal-" he jeers.  
>"Tomorrow. Right now it's time for bed."  
>"One more game?"  
>"Not a chance!" Emmet scoffs, playfully punching Farris' chest as he wriggles himself further into his embrace. "It's straight to bed for you, mister."  
>Despite his protestation, Emmet makes no moves to leave Farris' embrace, even as Farris' hand finds its way around his hips and the other in his hair, petting Emmet gently.  
>"In a minute?" Farris coos.  
>"In a minute." Emmet's eyes close with a click, leaning into Farris' touch.  
>"Merry Christmas, Emmet." he plants another kiss on Emmet's forehead, making his cheeks flare with color once more.  
>"Merry Christmas, Sir."

-  
Christmas Dinner  
-

>The Farris household clambers with activity. The tree towers over the living room, tinsel and lights and ornaments imposing over all the decor. The television sits idly, playing Christmas marathon movies for the empty seats and unread books lining the shelves as their owners labor in the kitchen.  
>Mr. Farris sits at the kitchen chair in his best suit, cigar in his mouth, watching as Emmet scrambles between pots and pans on the stovetop and oven, dressed up in Farris' sweater draped over his small frame. The oversized sleeves are rolled and pinned over his grey elbow hinge joints with clothespins. "And you're sure you don't need help?"  
>"Nope!" Emmet hastily replies with a turn on his heel, tray of mashed potatoes in hand. "I love you and all, but this is my job."  
>"Is that your way of saying I'd ruin whatever I touch?"  
>"Precisely!" He smiles with a wink.  
>Farris taps off his cigar. "Loves me, cooks me dinner, can't smell my cigars: what did I do to deserve you?"  
>"Two of those are because I'm an android, sir— about eighty thousand dollars." he sardonically corrects, wiping his pale hands off on his white 'KISS THE COOK' apron, whose ties wrap snugly around his petite waist.  
>"You're funny, you're the cost of a house. I could have property but instead I have a botler."  
>Emmet sets down his tray and joins Farris at the table, cupping his face delicately. "And was I worth it?" he pouts, gazing down into Farris' sleepy hazel eyes.  
>"Absolutely." Farris replies, leaning into Emmet's touch.  
>"Good!" He kisses Farris' forehead. "Because a house doesn't make stuffing just the way you like it."  
>"I'm salivating just thinking about it. You're a saint, Emmet." Farris returns the favor, grabbing Emmet by the wrist and kissing the palm of his hand.  
>Emmet pulls back in embarrassment, cheek panels activating and hastily returning to the oven to pull the remaining myriad Christmas ham and other dishes out of the oven. Farris holds his cigar in his mouth and applauds. "She's a beaut!"  
>Emmet sticks his finger inside the turkey and pauses, getting an exact temperature reading. "My work isn't done yet, don't get hasty!"  
>"If you could taste your cooking, you'd understand my haste." He fiddles with his tie.  
>"All good things come to those who wait." He picks up a knife and begins cutting the turkey, humming along to the Christmas movie end credit music playing in the living room and swaying his hips. Farris makes no effort to hide his gaze on Emmet's backside.  
>Emmet finishes one dish and bounces to the other, acting as if Farris isn't in the room. Farris remains seated, puffing his cigar and watching curiously. Emmet pipes up: "Does it bother you I'm not human?"  
>Farris is taken aback by this, previously content to objectify Emmet silently. "What?" he stammers.  
>"Does it bother you?"  
>"Emmet..."  
>Emmet makes no attempt to meet Farris' eyes, wrapped up in finalizing dinner with ever-increasing haste. "I'd understand, it's not the same as a real human."  
>"Don't say that-" He sets down his cigar.  
>"I can't enjoy dinner with you or smell the flowers you bring me home" The clack of his knife against the cutting board gets louder with every list item. "or sleep with you at night or share a drink or feel your-"  
>Farris' arms wrap around Emmet's waist, locking in him an embrace from behind and burying his face in his quaffed synthetic hair. Emmet stammers, dropping his knife on the countertop with a thud and tentatively placing a hand on Farris' arms. "Sir, I-"  
>"You are the most important thing in my life. You are the reason I wake up in the morning and the reason I fall asleep." Farris' voice wavers, squeezing Emmet tighter.  
>"Sir..." He mutters as his optics clicked shut, leaning back into Farris, cheek panels blazing red.  
>"I didn't think I could be normal after the war. I didn't think I could be normal after people knew I was gay." he sniffles into Emmet's hair, "I thought I'd lost everything until I met you. You made things better, better than normal. I love you."  
>Emmet's free hand reaches behind him to cup Farris' face, tracing his thumb in circles along his jaw. "But—"  
>"No but! There's no but. I don't care if you're human or not. A human isn't what I want because a human isn't you, Emmet."  
>A pause. A million seconds wrapped up in only a few. Farris clinging to his lover like a life preserver, Emmet contorting into his touch. "I love you too, sir." it lingers in the air, among the ventilated air and dinner aroma. "...I'm sorry"  
>Farris releases an arm from around Emmet's waist to wipe his eyes. "Don't be, please." He gently kisses the back of Emmet's neck, eliciting a flustered exhalation.  
>"Yes, sir. Not sorry at all— in fact, I'd do it again." Emmet grins.  
>"There's my guy!" Farris elates, "Now get back to dinner." He kisses Emmet on the cheek and releases him from his hug.  
>Emmet giggles, picking back up his knife and finishing his work. "You just love me for my cooking." he mock-scoffs.  
>"And your ass, don't forget." Farris sarcastically replies, playfully smacking Emmet's behind and hobbling back to his seat.  
>Emmet squeaks in surprise, "Hey! To the dining table, I'm wrapping up in here."  
>"Need any help?"  
>Emmet considers this, then grins. "No, you'd mess something up."  
>"You know me so well." He collects his stogie and heads into the dining room, hesitating in the doorway. "I love you, you know that?"  
>Emmet turns, trays of food in his oven-mitted hands, and beams up at Farris, cheeks their distinct soft pink. "Yes sir, I love you too."

-


	2. Valentines

-

>Emmet shoots around the house, from kitchen to living room to bedroom to closet and everywhere else in between, pointed legs click-clacking against the wooden floor with ever-increasing volume as the return of his owner comes closer and closer. In one hand he holds a candle, lighting as many of the near hundreds of other candles placed strategically around the house. First he hears the purr of Farris' towncar, then the light streaming in through the living room windows, then the hum of the garage door opening. Emmet scrambles to the holotape player, turning on music that slowly fills the lower floor of the house with the slow melody of Farris' favorite tape, readjusting his outfit just as Farris opens the door to the vestibule.  
>"You should see this blizzard!" Farris chuckles as he steps inside, paying no mind to Emmet attempting to pose in the entryway. He throws his jacket over a chair and kicks the snow off his shoes. "I almost lost my leg in a snowbank leaving the VA, and- and Olly fell straight on his ass on the ice, had to get Maddie to help him back up, poor droid. We even-"  
>"Look at me already, you geezer." Emmet interrupts.  
>Finally, Farris eyes his botler up and down, dressed in his formal black uniform, dress shirt half-undone, in red gloves and red socks, posing against the doorframe. Farris grins, putting a hand to his mouth to hide his blushing and flustered exhalation. "What're you all dressed up for? Gloves?"  
>"Happy Valentines, sir!" Emmet jumps into Farris' arms, bouncing up and down in excitement. "For you! Romantic partners do gestures like this, I've heard. The gloves are for later."  
>"Oooh-" Farris kisses Emmet on his neck, eliciting an excited giggle from Emmet. "I almost forgot what day it was..."  
>"From now on I won't let you forget," Emmet grabs a champagne bottle and glass he strategically placed in the vestibule hours before. "Champagne?"  
>Farris snorts, walking into the living room and cooing at the myriad candles and roses. "Trying to booze me up, huh- how long did this take you??"  
>Emmet follows him, pouring a glass "It's rude to ask that about a romantic gesture" he scolds.  
>"This gesture's a fire hazard, you know!"  
>"Oh boo hoo," Emmet deadpans, "You figured it out, I'm trying to kill you."  
>"Not if I kill you first." He meanders into the kitchen, where a steak dinner sat steaming hot and ornately garnished with parsley. "You've got to be kidding me-" he turns to Emmet as if needing permission before sitting, giddy as a schoolboy. Emmet grins sardonically up at him, pausing for a moment to examine Farris' unwavering smile and flushed face, how every single gesture elated him more and more, then gives a single nod. Farris grabs him by the sides of his head and kisses the top of his head, whispering "I love you" into his synthetic hair, and climbs into his seat at the table. "This is the key to a man's heart, right here" he gestures to his plate with his knife before digging in. Emmet giggles, watching Farris eat happy to see his work appreciated and happier to see his owner in high spirits. "How was the VA?"  
>Farris holds his knife to to his lips as he chews, laughing through his closed mouth. He spits out "Good!" before swallowing his bite. "As good as a dozen lonely veterans on Valentine's could be..." He corrects, taking another bite and smiles with a full mouth.  
>Emmet mock-scoffs. "You? Lonely?"  
>"No, not at all." He looks into the middle-distance thoughtfully. "Being lonely has little to do with being alone, you know?"  
>"I don't think I do." Emmet laughs to himself.  
>"It's a disease, like a... a miasma, that's the word. Loneliness begets loneliness."  
>"Sounds like you're humbly bragging about being an empath, sir."  
>"No, it's different. I'm not lonely when I'm with you, or when I'm alone, but when others are-"  
>"That's called being empathetic."  
>"...Hmm. Is it?"  
>"Yes sir."  
>"Huh. Damn, I thought I had a profound thing to say about love." Farris chuckles, embarrassed.  
>Emmet pouts. "The beginning was very profound sounding. Miasma is a good word."  
>"Monologuing isn't my strong suit." Dinner passes quietly, the couple content to listen to their holotapes and share chaste eye contact as the night wavered and the candles burnt their wicks and the champagne bottle grew lighter. Maybe Emmet liked big, grand gestures, but Farris cherished moments like these, the small talk and the warm silence— the stability he always wanted.  
>Farris finishes eating and Emmet hastily clears the table, procuring another alcohol, a dark bottle of something-or-other with a wrinkled grey label, placing it with a clack against the dining table with a bottle opener and single glass in hand and wiping his gloved hands off on his pants. "Happy Valentines."  
>"What do you have the gloves on for?" Farris slurs, affected by the drink.  
>"I told you, they're for later, sir. Look; another gift."  
>"Another gift?" Farris chortles, "What's this, rum? Bourbon?" He picks at the label of the bottle, feeling it's weight in his hands. "I can't- what is that, French?"  
>Emmet leans onto the table, shifting his dress shirt revealing more of his lithe white chest, and nudges the bottle. "It's Basque, just open it-"  
>"Where's Basque even from?" Farris asks as he does as told and wrestles with the cork of the bottle, still glancing at the label between pulls as if he'll suddenly understand the faded foreign text if he stares at it long enough. "How old is this?" He grunts as the cork releases from the bottle, "You know liqueurs don't age in bottles? I hope you- I hope you didn't waste money on old rum-"  
>"It's not rum!"  
>"Then what... is..." He instantly recognizes the pungent herbal smell from the bottle. "No goddamn way-" He cackles, beaming at Emmet staring intently back at him, "Not a chance in hell you bought me absinthe, that's-"  
>"Illegal in the US and most of Europe?" Emmet asks, mordant grin building on his face.  
>"You're unreal! Absolutely unreal!" He shakes his head in disbelief, swirling the bottle to see the muddy-green color of the century-old spirit before pouring himself a glass, "How did you do it?"  
>Emmet gesticulates, unwilling to give him a straight answer, but stops the act as he sees Farris bring the glass to his lips. "Sir, you mix it with water-" he uselessly protests as Farris gulps down the glass, slamming it down with an elated sigh.  
>Farris whips his lip off with the cuff of his shirt. "It's sweet, it's- christ it's good-" he begins to pour another glass. "You're boozing me up for what? What've you- you got planned next?"  
>"Just one more thing-"  
>"Oh?" Farris leans forward in his seat. "Show me that, before I pass out-"  
>"Are you sure?"  
>Farris downs his second glass with the same intensity as the first shoots up from his seat and extends a hand, grunting some slurring affirmation. Emmet takes his hand with a giggle and leads him back into the living room and up the stairs. The candles here are already burnt out in little pools of bulbous red wax in small cups along the stairs. With every step up the stairs Farris' prosthetic leg drags behind him just a bit more until he practically melts into his bed in the center of his cluttered quarters, exhausted by a hazy mix of alcohol and exercise. He shuts his eyes for a moment before being jostled by Emmet, shaking his owner to wake him up for his last surprise. "Just ooone more gift sir, it'll wake you up!" he pulls Farris into a sitting position by his arms.  
>"I'm up, I'm up!" Farris cackles, laughing at the sensation of getting pushed around by his botler half his size. "Last gift, I'm ready!"  
>Emmet steps back and begins undoing the buttons of his dress shirt, one-by-one, as the lights of his cheeks glow gently. "Do you remember Keller's birthday last month? When we went to the mall to buy his gift?"  
>"He didn't like those cufflinks, I don't think-" he mutters, watching the subtle contortions of Emmet's chassis as his fingers work their way down his torso with increasing abandon.  
>"Well, at the mall there was a certain store that I remember catching your attention" As he unbuttons the last of his shirt he begins unbuckling his belt that clicks against his metal pelvis.  
>"Oh? And what store was that?" Farris grins.  
>Emmet savors unzipping his pants, eating up the slow growl as he speaks, "A certain adult entertainment store— so I thought; if sir likes to see mannequins and photos of lingerie, maybe it's high time to give him an experience of his own" his cheeks blaze their impassioned red.  
>"Now Emmet— what are the gloves for?"  
>"This, sir-" In one motion, he slides his shirt and jacket off his slender shoulders and steps out of his slacks, revealing his gloves to be opera gloves and his socks to be thigh-high, wrapping his delicate arms and legs in red suede ending at his pale shoulder joints and metal-grey ball-joint hips which rock back and forth in eager satisfaction. He purrs, "Happy Valentines Day, sir~"

-


End file.
